writing snippets – Page 2 – The Fantasy Nook

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #37

This week, I finished up chapter fifty-nine of Pathway of the Moon. One more to go, and then it’s done and off to my list of works to edit (which currently consists of only that one piece and part of another, so it’s a short list of books for my own work, at least). I’m extremely excited about this (as I know I’ve said before), and this week’s work-in-progress comes from the most recent chapter.

~~~

Alrian glanced up at the Numahi. “Is this what we need to activate?”

She nodded. “It should be touch-activated. The one on our world was accessible to anyone in Sedra’s circle, but we couldn’t open it. She made sure of that.”

Brennan frowned. “You’re sure this is it? Is it even functional?”

“It is the record system. I’m sure of that, at least. But I don’t know if it will be functional or not. If it isn’t, the written records abandoned here should be enough. It’s written in an older dialect than what you use now, however.”

“Neither of us can read the dialect that far back.” Alrian leaned over and pressed her palm against the dark surface of the orb. “So, let’s hope this thing turns on and translates for us too.”

Just after she touched it, the orb began emitting a pale glow, which grew brighter until it became a piercing beam that scanned over her. What was it doing? Hopefully it wouldn’t kill her. She squeezed her eyes shut and stood still. If it was going to hurt her, it was too late to get out of the way. If she froze, maybe it wouldn’t hurt her? A tiny trill emitted from the glass orb, and she peeked at it. The beam dimmed back to a tolerable glow, and she opened her eyes fully.

“Records activated,” a robotic female voice chirped. “Please request an option from the navigation menu.”

She glanced at Brennan then back to the orb. “What are the options?”

Something whirred, and then the voice came back. “Review log files. View recordings. Enter a new log file. Record a new video file.” The voice spouted off a few more things she didn’t understand then said, “Please request an option from the navigation menu.”

Brennan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Umm… View recordings?” He glanced over at her. “What is a recording, anyway?”

The Numahi laughed. “A recording is simply a record that contains audio and sometimes visual that was taken down in the moment it happened. You can communicate using those devices that are programmed to one another, yes?”

She nodded.

“Well, this device is more sophisticated. It can capture that communication and save it.”

Alrian shifted from foot to foot. A device that could capture their words and faces? Didn’t really sound like it led anywhere good, but maybe it could be useful. After all, without that, they wouldn’t be able to activate this old thing and find out what was really going on. She sighed and crossed her arms as the device whirred once more and projected an image onto the table. She squinted down at it with a frown.

Brennan looked equally confused. He poked his finger through the glowing stretch, but the image only moved over his finger too. “What is this?”

The Numahi snickered. “I forget that your communications are primitive here. It’s what we call a holo.”

“How does it work? Magic?”

“No, not magic. Technology. But never mind how it works. You need to tell the device which video to play. If it’s like the ones back home, you can choose based on the dates on the bottom left corner of each still image. If you don’t see something interesting, you can tell the orb to scroll to the next set.”

Brennan looked over at her. “You ready?”

She sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s just start at the beginning.”

Brennan turned back to the video display. “Show us all the videos starting with Entry One, Year 0.”

The screen changed, and sound poured out into the room. What she heard in that first video made her stomach clench, and sweat beaded her forehead. The creature hadn’t been lying. Maybe it had lied about other things. Who knew? But it hadn’t been lying about this, and even minutes into the first video, she was ready to shut this whole thing down and run. Still, she couldn’t move, couldn’t flee. This had to be heard. The threat was still out there, and who knew what might happen if it found out they still existed? They could all end up in dire danger if the organization backing the odd experiment Sedra was describing on the recording had the power to help her create life itself. This organization played the part of a god, and they had no problem with doing even the profane. If they found Alcardia, everything would be lost.

~~~

That’s it for this week, everyone! Next week, I may have something from the final chapter to share. Then that’s it. No more excerpts from Pathway of the Moon for Work-In-Progress Wednesdays because it’ll be done. I’ll be moving on to new things.

Speaking of new things, I’m participating in Wattpad’s Open Novella Contest this year! I did this last year too, and Bane of Ashkarith was the result. (So everyone who has really like the book, you have that contest to thank. 🙂 They’ve got some pretty good prompts.) This year, my piece is shaping up to have more of a sci-fi feel, but I’m basing it around the prompt “If all else fails, throw a little magic at it.” I’m liking it so far, so you may be seeing some of that on this section of the blog through until April when the novella has to be finished.

Flash Fiction Fridays: Cold Hard Stone

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This week’s flash fiction is my take on a writing prompt I recently posted on Pinterest.

~~~

Shauna opened her eyes to…nothing? Inky blackness met her gaze, and she shifted with a soft whine. Pain sparked through her arm, but she ignored it and forced herself to sit up anyway. Where was she? Cold stone met her palms and the backs of her thighs, and she winced. Not being able to see anything was unnerving.

She slid her fingers along the stone until they met empty air. Some sort of pedestal then. How far was it to the floor? She didn’t dare try to climb off this thing without knowing what lay beneath. Really, in this kind of darkness, the floor could be thousands of feet below her or some monster could lurk in the darkness. She’d seen enough to know the monster under the bed wasn’t always the result of an overactive imagination.

But she couldn’t sit here all day, either. Well, maybe not day. Too dark to know if it was day or night wherever she was. Either way, she couldn’t stay here. She felt down the side of the stone she sat on, inch by inch. Nothing snapped at her fingers, but she also couldn’t feel any other surfaces to step on just yet.

Her head ached with the motion, and her injured arm throbbed. While she quested for some indication of where she might be situated and how to escape, she occupied herself with trying to determine what might have happened to her. Had she been drugged? Given how her head felt, quite likely. She must have put up a fight to be injured like this unless whoever dragged her down here and been careless. Why, oh, why– Her fingers brushed against another solid surface.

Cheering mentally, she leaned over to feel along the cool surface. More stone, but it seemed to be more the sort flooring might be made out of. That was a good sign. Even better, it didn’t drop off that she could tell. She slipped her feet over the edge and eased onto the solid ground beneath the stone slab she’d been on. One step at a time, she felt her way along the new surface until she hit a wall.

Walls were good. They meant that, besides stairs, the floor probably didn’t just end somewhere. They also meant she was in a man-made structure of some sort, whether built entirely by hand or built into some sort of cave structure. At least she knew there would be some rhyme or reason to the building. She continued forward, shuffling along at a slow, steady pace.

The darkness in the space eased a bit at a time with each step she took. It felt like an eternity before it happened, but she took a turn with the wall and burst out into a dimly-lit hall. A door stood at the other end, and through the tiny pane of glass, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be some kind of lab. Had they brought her here to be a guinea pig? If so, why leave her in the dark, unchained and free to roam whenever the drugs they’d given her wore off? Perhaps there was something more going on in that dark place. And just maybe she’d gotten out in the nick of time. She stopped at the door and peered in through the glass pane.

Her breath caught in her chest, and bile rose in her throat. There, on the screens mounted all over the room, was the unmistakable form of some giant creature on the infrared camera feeds. It must have been down in that place she’d come from or somewhere even deeper for whoever owned this place to use infrared cameras to keep an eye on it.

She cracked the door open and slipped inside the unoccupied room. Once inside, she simply stared at everything. The word Behemoth was written in bold red ink across a folder nearby and again in black print on the far wall. Behemoth. Was that the creature or the organization? She reached out and flipped the folder open with trembling fingers.

Pictures of twisted, torn bodies of young women spilled out across the metal table in disarray. She gasped and stepped back, her fingers going to her throat. What was this place? She turned away, stomach heaving, and took one step in the direction of the door.

Black, polished shoes reflected the fluorescent lights. Her gaze traveled up over black slacks, a white lab coat, and a neatly pressed grey shirt until it met a blue gaze as sterile as its owner’s clothing. She swallowed hard.

The man offered her a razor sharp smile. “I see Moth didn’t take you. Well, guess he’s judged you suitable for phase two, which means you’re all mine from here on out.”

A scream lodged itself in her throat.

“Oh, come now. You weren’t eaten alive. This part will be much better than that, I promise. I’m the much gentler side of Behemoth. The face it presents to the world. I won’t hurt you. Much.”

Now why didn’t she believe that? She took a shaky step back and snatched the first sharp object she saw off the table. A pen. How useful.

He eyed it with a bemused grin and slipped a syringe from his pocket. “I can see he chose well, little girl. When you wake up, it’ll all be much less frightening, I promise.”

~~~

That was a little bit longer than the last few have been, but I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway! If you’re curious about what the prompt was or want to give it a try yourself, you can check it out on Pinterest. I post about two writing prompts a week on The Fantasy Nook Blog’s Pinterest page, so if you’re looking for inspiration, head on over and take a look. I also pin other people’s writing prompts when I find interesting ones, so there’s a little of something for everyone, I think.

Flash Fiction Fridays – Guardian

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This week’s Flash Fiction Friday is another one based on a prompt I found on Pinterest. This one is built on the premise that everyone but you has a guardian angel. Instead, you have a guardian demon who deals with things in more violent but much more efficient fashion. It sounded interesting, so let’s see where this goes.

~~~

“Did you really have to do that?” I pointed to the corpse with his burned-out eyes and open mouth, which had, just seconds ago, been releasing a lot of noise. A lot of hot air too. Seriously, he should have known no one could reason with a demon. I’d figured it out ages ago. Hadn’t taken me more than a few hours after he showed up.

“He was a danger to you.”

“Azariel, he just wanted my wallet.”

“I know humans and their dark intentions, little girl. I’ve been around a few times. Seen things you couldn’t even imagine.” Azariel examined his sharp, curving claws with a sniff. “He would’ve done much worse than steal your wallet.”

“Thanks for that image.” I gagged and turned away from the corpse. “But you can’t murder everyone who comes after me!”

“Why not? I’m not an angel, pet. I’m a demon, and demons create havoc, destroy things, and lead humans astray.”

I groaned and shook my head. “Remind me again why you’re here? I never asked for a guardian—angel or demon—but I certainly would’ve chosen anything but you.”

“Such bratty behavior for someone who would’ve died if I hadn’t stepped in.” Azariel smiled at me and flicked my wayward bangs out of my eyes. “Really, Ash, would it kill you to be grateful? I know I’m supposed to encourage greed and all other banal, wicked attitudes in humans, but I have feelings too. I’d appreciate a little bit of thankfulness for saving your life.”

“Azariel,” I drawled. “You have been leaving a trail of corpses behind you since we met a month ago. I’m going to end up in jail as a serial killer, and my life will basically be over anyway. Can you pleasejust let me handle things and, I don’t know, buzz off?”

“That would be boring.”

“You’re thousands of years old. You don’t need me to amuse you. Find some other human to toy with. I don’t need the devil’s protection.”

Azariel pursed his lips. “Well, it’s all you’ve got right now.”

“And I’m telling you, I don’t want it. I know the cost associated with it way too well.” I grimaced, hating that I couldn’t get him off my back. Really, I’d seen what contracting with demons resulted in, and I didn’t want any part. Maybe I might not have a guardian angel, but I could live with that. God could decide when I went, guardian angel, demon, or whatever. Not like anything was going to stop Him, and I didn’t want anything to do with this demon since it seriously increased my chances of ending up dead.

Azariel had been silent for too long. He looked like he was in pain, but then the expression flashed away, replaced with the usual smugness he projected. “What if I said I’d stop being your guardian demon?”

“On what conditions? My immortal soul?” I crossed my arms. “Come on, Azariel, what do you take me for? A fool?”

“Well… You did almost let that man—”

I raised a hand. “Enough. I get the idea. What will I have to give you in return for getting rid of you? Hmm? My firstborn child?”

Azariel shivered in disgust. “Good gods, no. What would I do with a baby? Eat it?”

I gagged. “Seriously? That’s the first thing you come up with?”

He shrugged with an innocent smile. “I’m a demon? Generally, my first idea is the most violent one.”

Unbelievable. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“Well, I’m not going to leave. But I’ll stop being your guardian demon.”

I face-palmed. “That doesn’t get rid of you.”

“Nope. But it does exonerate you of the price you’d have to pay for my guardianship.”

I stalked off down the alley. “Stupid demons. I’m going to snap his neck like a twig one of these days, I swear.”

“I heard that.”

Well, good. He was supposed to.

~~~

Well, that’s it for this week’s Flash Fiction Friday. Hope you enjoyed it. As always, if you have something you’d like to see here, feel free to reach out in the comments or by email!

Flash Fiction Fridays – First Meetings

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This week’s flash fiction is about Leo’s parents and their first meeting. If you’ve ever wondered how his mother ended up stuck in such an awful situation, this answers that. Enjoy!

~~~

She held her head as high as she could and looked him in the eye. Pale violet blended out into a deeper shade of indigo, and she stared just as much as he stared at her. A shiver went down her spine. No warmth lingered in his gaze. He was cold. Even colder than the slave traders who had brought her here.

The way station’s travelers bustled outside the large three room house where they were kept. None of them had any idea what went on in here. None of them knew that she would probably leave this building with one of the men here today. But she held her head high anyway and forced back the tears. No help was coming. No one on the outside could do anything even if they knew, and she couldn’t pull them into this mess. The men here were all powerful in their own rights, and none of them would think twice about killing anyone who intervened. She’d seen it happen.

The violet-eyed man stalked to her position in the line, his gaze never leaving hers. A challenge flared to life there, as if he were daring her to run from him, daring her to find out that she wasn’t so strong after all. She tensed and fought the urge to lower her gaze and to hide from him. He stopped right in front of her and reached out to grip her chin between his fingers. She flinched, and a cruel smile curved his lips. He could’ve been carved from marble for all he cared about how he made her feel. He was even worse than the men leaving with their new slaves. They might afford their slaves some dignity. This man? He would break anyone he chose, and she was the unlucky soul he’d chosen. He might not have bought her yet, but he would. She knew the look in his eye. Saw it all the time, in fact.

“What’s your name, girl?” His low voice washed over her in warm baritones.

His voice didn’t belong with a man so hard. She lowered her gaze, unable to stand staring into those cold, hard eyes.

His grip tightened. “Do not make me ask again. I will take you into one of the back rooms and beat it out of you.”

She bit back a cry at the sudden pain in her jaw. “It’s Anne, Master.”

“It’s Caladhor. From now on, you will address me by sir or by my name.”

She licked her lips. How was she to know which to use when?

“Is that understood?”

“How do I know which to use?” She glanced up at him.

“It depends on my mood. If I look like I might want to kill you, sir might be most appropriate. If I’m pleased with you, my name will do. You’ll figure it out. And if you don’t pick up quick…” He released her with a sharp smile. “Well, never mind that. I think you’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re figuring it out already.” His grin widened. “Though I don’t want to kill you just yet.”

Anne didn’t say anything. If he was hoping for a response, she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She would do what she had to in order to live, but she wasn’t going to let him break her. She wouldn’t lose her spirit no matter what he did to her. He walked off to talk to the slave traders, and she watched the gold change hands. Inside, she was numb now. When Caladhor returned and grabbed her by the arm, she let him drag her out of the house without a word. Like it or not, a new life awaited, and this man would be the one who decided her fate. She would make sure she found a way to have a good one.

~~~

That’s it for this week, everybody! I hope you all enjoyed. If you have something specific you want me to write for this section of the blog, feel free to shoot me an email or leave a comment! I’m always happy to see new ideas and new writing prompts, particularly if they’re ones that would be more interesting to you all!

Flash Fiction Fridays: Dead Men Do Tell Tales

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This week’s is pretty short. It’s based on a writing prompt I saw on Facebook that looked interesting. Hopefully you all enjoy even though it’s short!

~~~

He never should’ve taken the job. Or at least, not without asking a lot of questions first. His target lay bleeding out on the floor, her spirit long-gone and her knowledge his. He wished it weren’t. Swords for hire didn’t have much loyalty or honor, but gods curse it, he had some standards, and this violated them.

He didn’t kill children or innocents.

He didn’t stand for selling out those who hired you.

Until today, those rules had governed his jobs. The woman–General Eilesi Araden–had been staging a coup, one of the largest in her country’s history, to take down her country’s corrupt oligarchy. His client had been her second-in-command, and his client had also lied about her. She hadn’t been guilty of anything except wanting the best for her country and her people.

He stepped away from the cooling body and fought down the bile rising in his throat. Now that she was dead, he would be a target if anyone knew he had her knowledge. Did his client know about his unique abilities? He didn’t generally broadcast it, so he could be safe. But even if he was safe on that front, would they risk the loose end he posed? He doubted it. Which meant he was going to have to run. The hunter had just become the hunted.

~~~

And that’s it. Like I said, it’s short. Do you guys have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? If so, feel free to email me about it or leave a comment below!

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #34

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This is a sneak peek at a short story I’m working on for a short story collection that I hope to publish in 2021. I know, a while out, but I like to get a head start so I can make sure everything is finished on schedule. Anyway, this one is about Enlil, a storm god in an alternate universe who has kidnapped a princess who is supposed to be his Chosen, the one to keep him steady and complete him. Things are…not working out as planned. (But really, when do they ever, right?)

~~~

ENLIL watched Nunael from across the table. She wouldn’t lift her gaze from her food, and they had already passed most of the meal dancing around any real conversation. In fact, she had spent most of her words on avoiding any conversation with him at all. He hadn’t envisioned things going like this. His Chosen was supposed to obey and to adore him, and he was to love and to protect her. Had the ring chosen wrong this time? In his long lifetime, it never had. Still, this mulish, raven-haired slip of a woman wasn’t anything like the others the ring had chosen in the previous millenium. He tightened his grip on his cutlery. He’d been happy with all of the previous Chosen. What was the ring doing? Changing up a working system was madness. He frowned down at the ring, and the ruby set into the intricate metal band stared back, winking in the light. He looked up at the girl again.

She picked at her food with a groan. “Why do you insist on staring at me?”

His scowl deepened. “Why do you insist on giving me a headache?”

She snorted. “I’m not a telepath, so I can’t possibly give you a headache.”

“You most certainly can. There are ways to do it without using any magic, and you certainly have managed it in the short time since you came here.”

“Since you kidnapped me, you mean.” She returned to picking at her food, and candlelight flickered over her high cheekbones.

“You came willingly.”

“I came because I had to.”

“You still chose to come. And is it really that miserable here? Have I hurt you in any way?”

“Not yet.”

His grip on the silverware turned vise-like, and shocks flickered over his forearms. He forced himself to take a deep breath and to calm down. “I’m not going to. Do you know what a Chosen is?”

“An individual sacrifices to a god to act as a consort and a tie between mortal and immortal.” She pushed her plate away. “How is this relevant?”

“You are my vessel’s chosen.”

She sat back and slumped down in her chair with a huff of breath. Disbelief, judging by the expression on her elfen features. “Your vessel’s chosen?”

“The Chosen are picked by the ancestors of the deity.”

She frowned at that but didn’t ask the question that was obvious on her face.

He answered anyway. “We’re not really immortal. But it takes someone or something as strong as we are to kill us.”

“And if you aren’t killed?”

“We live for a long time.”

She stared out at the torch-lit courtyard below their window. “How old are you, then?”

“Old enough. You?”

“Eighteen.” She still didn’t look at him.

He watched her, curiosity warring with irritation. This was the least intractable she’d been so far. But even now, she looked for an escape from his presence. “You know you’re stuck here, right? Stuck in this palace with me…”

Her golden eyes finally shifted to him. Still, she didn’t answer, and stubbornness glinted in that shadowed gaze.

He stood and stalked over to her, pulling her to her feet. “You can’t go. Ever.”

Her gaze lowered, shut him out and blocked his words. “So you have said.”

What would it take for her to get it? He yanked her into his arms and caged her in his embrace. “I mean it. Until you and I are Bound and become one, this place will not let you leave.”

She tore from his grip with a mournful, angered cry. “You lie!”

“I don’t.” He crossed his arms. “Test it if you like. But you’ll only prove me right, Princess. Save us both the trouble and accept your fate.”

“Never.” She spun on her heel and fled out the door, her dress fluttering around her ankles.

He watched her go before shoving his hands into his pockets and following behind her. She rushed down the hall to the grand staircase. There, she paused and looked back. Her gaze caught on him, and she froze for a moment. Then she took off again, all but tumbling down the stairs in her haste. He didn’t rush. Why do that when he didn’t need to? She’d see soon enough.

They ended up in the gardens on the border of the castle’s wall. She stepped out of the gate in the wall, and Enlil waited by the burbling fountain. Moments later, she reappeared beside him, stumbling a bit. A confused whimper escaped her, and he steadied her. She tore her arm from his grip and sank to the grass surrounding his fountain. Her tiny frame trembled. “Go away! You won, so just leave me alone.”

He chewed on his inner cheek and crouched down beside her. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

He didn’t know. He just felt terrible about the pain she was in, and he wanted to alleviate it. He reached out to take her hand then pulled back. She wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not right now.

She kept her face turned away from him. “This is your fault. You’re not really sorry for anything. You just feel guilty.”

He wanted to be angry with her, but she was right. He didn’t know what he was sorry for, and he did feel guilty. It was, in some ways, his fault. But not entirely. He stood and glared down at the ring on his ring finger. The ring had chosen her, not him. The ring had decided this headstrong, unsubmissive, and angry woman would be the best match for him. He tore the infernal thing off his finger and threw it into the grass. “If I had my way, I never would have brought you here at all. You’re not what I need, and you’re not what I was hoping for.”

She laughed bitterly. “Then go away! Leave me be. I don’t want you either, so I guess that makes us even. At least we can agree on that.”

He shook his head with a sneer and stalked off. Cursed ring and its wretched judgment. Next time, he’d rather be damned for eternity in the fiery pits of Aratroth’s furnace than let the ring pick another ill-matched, ill-mannered wench. He’d choose his own woman next time, and his ancestors could just suck it up and deal with it. He could make his own decisions.

~~~

Well, that’s it for now, everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed. What are you working on? If you’d like, you can share it in the comments below! I’d love to hear from everyone.

Flash Fiction Fridays – The Shade of Whitsmare

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Okay, so this one is a one-off that doesn’t go with any particular story or world. I got the idea from a prompt on one of the writing groups I’m with on Facebook, and I figured I’d share it. This one’s in first person. I rarely write in first person since I generally prefer third and feel I am strongest in that, but this one is the exception. It’s also shorter than the others have been, but hopefully you guys enjoy it anyway.

~~~

I couldn’t watch this happen to him. He was the light to my dark, and if I lost him, I would lose myself. I’m not even sure exactly what happened in that moment, but at the moment that I heard the report come crackling over the cop car radio that the Shade of Whitsmare was trying to hold off Kyrelon, something inside me snapped. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to be the hero–my hero. I just had to know he was safe. I closed my eyes and did the one thing I had vowed never to do with my power. I shade walked in the mind of my hero. I had promised I wouldn’t ever take over, even if I could wrest control from his conscious mind in order to be in control.

The moment he gave in and let me take over, my heart broke. He stepped back and gave me control, the very thing I’d always craved over him, and now I didn’t want it. I stared up at Kyrelon through his eyes and lifted his hands. He might not be able to beat Kyrelon, but if I channeled my power through him, I could defeat the villain. And I would. Even if it meant I would likely die engaging Kyrelon’s mind, I would do it. After all, a villain is only as powerful as the hero she must battle, and I was no exception. I was as strong as I was because of Shade, and if he was gone, I would be nothing. Life would be meaningless anyway, and he deserved to live.

So I whispered my last farewell into his mind, willing him to live on even if he hated himself for letting this happen. And when I had done that, I cast my mind around Kyrelon, weaving a dream from which neither he nor I would escape. My mental projection thrummed with power, and I felt my mind leaving my body entirely. Then it slipped loose of the tether Shade’s body provided, and I was lost in my dream world, dragging Kyrelon with me.

Loving and saving him were the only things I never regretted no matter how lost I got in that world I’d made and no matter how many times Kyrelon and I battled or died there. They were the only good things I ever did in my life. The only truly selfless things I chose to do of my own volition. I’m glad I did. Even a villain has something they cannot bear to lose. I found that thing. The Shade of Whitsmare.

~~~

There you have it! Hopefully you all liked it. It’s in a different sub-genre of fantasy than I usually use, and if you’ve followed my posts on Allen Steadham’s Mindfire or Superhero Fantasy, you know I’m not usually a fan of the genre. But hey, I think it went okay all things considered!

Have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? Feel free to share the idea with me via email or in the comments, whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t bite, I promise! I’m always happy to interact with you guys and any of my readers.

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #33

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This week’s goes with an idea I’m playing around with for a short story. We’ll see where it goes, but I’m liking the idea and characters so far. Enjoy!

~~~

Eltara reached out with trembling fingers and touched the cold stone base of the statue at the center of the square. This city square held only ivy, crumbling cobblestone, and the unweathered statue. Even though the guards didn’t watch this place, it still held an oppressive air of sorts. Or so she was told. She only felt sadness and longing. The statue was abandoned here just like she was, but unlike her, it at least lived on in whispered children’s fables. If anyone dared whisper of love and soulmates in a world that had outlawed such things.

This place held a draw on her that she couldn’t explain, but that wasn’t why she was here tonight. She was here under the full moon, staring at a statue, because Lutania had wanted her to take a picture with the statue. The girl, despite her father’s attempts to knock some sense into her, retained a strong sense of romanticism, and she’d insisted on sending Eltara to test the stories. Now that she was here, though, she couldn’t bring herself to take Lutania’s picture. She just stared at the forlorn expression on the statue and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Who did you represent when you were carved? Whoever shaped you took a big risk. The person you’re supposed to look like can’t have appreciated that forlorn, lost look on a marble likeness of himself.” She climbed up onto the marble base and sat at the statue’s feet, staring out across concrete yards, rows of tidy houses, and pitch-black roads in the city down the hill from the square.

“What was it like back when your maker lived? Were you formed back when this land was part of America? I wish I could’ve seen it. Equality must have been a beautiful thing. Being free to be whatever you were must have been even nicer.” The breeze snatched her soft words away, and she stood, hands on her hips. While she was asking questions and making confessions, she might as well get the things weighing on her off her chest where no one would hear or hurt her for saying them. “I hate this place. No one wants me, and I have nowhere to belong. But I’m not weak just because of my birth’s circumstances, and I’m not meant to be treated like an outcast.” Her smile dropped, and she reached out to run her fingers over the cold stone chest of the man. “Whoever’s image you were carved in, you’d be just like me. Not quite similar enough to either side to be accepted anywhere.”

The statue remained still and silent.

Sighing, she turned and leaned back against the statue’s chest, placing her hand in his one free hand. Maybe someday, someone besides a cold statue of a man long dead would embrace her. Not likely. An ache spread through her chest and stole her breath, left her with only the pain instead of the air that should occupy her lungs. She’d never be matched with anyone. A half-breed who never should have lived would never be picked for the ranks of the Chosen. Even if she were, her fellow Chosen would hate her, wouldn’t they? Her match would recoil in disgust. Tears filled her eyes, and she sagged down to hunker at the statue’s feet. Would the loneliness and separation ever end? If she could leave and find her own way in the world, maybe it would be better? But it wasn’t possible for one half-breed with no help. She’d be caught trying to escape the Praesaepium’s walls and thrown into the mental hell of the Mors Animi. Her tears spilled over past her lashes. She buried her face in her arms and allowed herself this moment of weakness. Out here, at least, she could have that.

A groan sounded behind her, and she froze. The sound had almost seemed human, but it had a strange grating sound like pebbles or stone grinding against other stone. She hugged her knees to her chest more closely and listened. Was someone else out here with her? Had Lutania sent someone to make sure she actually did what she was supposed to? No, that made no sense. She was to return with a picture.

The groan came again, and she reached out for the boot of the statue to push herself to her feet. Her heart pounded, and she almost missed it because of the adrenaline pumping through her.

Warmth and real leather caressed her palm.

She gasped and snatched her hand back. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the statue. The moon, standing directly over it, illuminated the cold marble. But that cold marble was slowly, but surely, losing its sheen and becoming something else altogether. A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and lightning split the sky. The statue moaned this time, and she froze in place.

Then the most miraculous thing occurred as she watched. The statue began to shrink. She gasped and stumbled away, but not quickly enough to avoid the statue as it toppled over. She squeezed her eyes shut. Was this how she went? Crushed to death by a giant statue magic was shrinking? Had she done this? She took another step down the stairs before the statue toppled onto her. How could she have done this? She wasn’t a Fortis. She didn’t have magic.

The former statue had, somehow, become a living, breathing man. Clearly magic was involved. Had it been the curse Lutania had gone on about? Her heart hammered in her chest. No, no, no. That wasn’t okay. It wasn’t possible. His warm body pressing against hers said otherwise. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms to his bare chest to push him off. She had to get out of here. If the Fortis guards bothered to check the square tonight, she’d be in so much trouble. Emerald eyes met hers, and the man pushed himself up off her, but he didn’t stand. He just hovered over her, a frown furrowing his brow.

She stared too. Mesmerized, she reached out to run her fingers of his face. He’d been cold marble moments ago. How could this even happen? She chewed on her inner cheek. Whatever had happened, if anyone found out she’d woken him up, she’d disappear like any other Infirmi who had Ability. No one would miss her because she wasn’t even fully Infirmi and both sides wanted her gone. She pulled her hand away. Her movement snapped whatever spell he was under, and he moved off her, standing up and staring at the city. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his brows pulled down.

“S-sir?” She scrambled to her feet and looked out across the still sleeping Praesaepium. What was he looking at?

He didn’t answer.

Should she leave him to figure out his own problems? Or stay and help him? Helping him would jeopardize her safety, and it might also mean she would have to attempt an escape even if she didn’t think she’d make it. But if things went sour, she’d be tangled up with him, and they’d end up running from forces belonging to the elite members of the Fortis. She turned away, her steps faltering. Her heart whispered that she shouldn’t go, but she couldn’t let it dictate this situation. Not if she wanted to survive in this society of rules and dictates.

“W-wait.”

She froze.

“Tara?”

Eltara shook her head. “You’re mistaken, sir. I’m not the woman you’re searching for.”

“You have to be. You… You broke the curse.”

She shook her head again and glanced over her shoulder. His malachite gaze rested on her hopefully. She couldn’t leave him here. He looked lost, and she knew what that felt like. She’d never be able to ignore someone in need. Not when she knew what it was like to be there and have no one. She sighed. “I’m Eltara. Please, keep quiet. If the Fortis that check around here catch us, you’ll be in trouble.” And so would she, particularly since this didn’t look very good. They’d think she was trying to seduce one of their own, and that would gain her a quick pass to the Mors Animi. She shivered. “Really, you don’t want to know what might happen.”

~~~

Well, that’s it for this week! Hope you guys enjoyed it! What are you working on? I’d love to hear about it, so if you’d like to share, please feel free to utilize the comments section to share with us.

Flash Fiction Fridays – Thuriel’s Dagger

Featured Ariel Paiement

This week’s flash fiction is about the forging of the dagger from Revelar’s Queen. Enjoy!

~~~

Thuriel bent close over the glowing silver in its crucible. Bubbles formed and popped on the surface. It was almost time. Soon he would forge the blade that would protect his descendants, the blade that would destroy her. The Seelie Queen who had taken everything from him. His soulmate, his throne, and his people. This dagger would take it all back and inflict the same pain on her. With each descendant who held it, it would grow in strength, in the thirst for revenge. His descendants would ruin her even if he couldn’t.

He plunged his hand into the boiling silver, wrapping his hand in a cocoon of magic and blending the magic into the silver. When it glowed and sparked with his power, he removed his hand and let the silver bubble in its crucible over the fire a little longer. Then he removed it and brought it over to cast the dagger.

Each movement was precise, and he took each with care as if he were crafting the subtlest of masterpieces. He whistled to himself as he worked, continued to imbue it with his power throughout the entire process and ended the process with a final blow of the hammer. The dagger lay on the anvil, gleaming under the light, and he placed one last piece into it. Heating up the handle, he warmed the metal until it would give under his hammer. Then he embedded a single uncut ruby into it. This was the tricky part. He reached deep inside, grabbed a part of his soul and tore it away from the rest forcefully.

His body convulsed, and he screamed in agony, but he gritted his teeth and continued. This had to be done if the dagger was to guide his descendants. He directed the piece of his soul into the ruby and bound it there. Finished at last, he sagged to his knees on the ground and rested his head against the table. It was finished.

~~~

That’s it for this week, everyone! Have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? Feel free to leave the suggestion in the comments!

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #32

Featured Ariel Paiement

This week, I have a scene from Pathway of the Moon’s most recent chapter. I’ve got ten chapters to go in this monolith of a book! Super excited to have the end in sight. This has been my most rigorous project yet, and the sequel promises to be even more complex in its plot and the execution of that plot. Lots of threads are going to be woven into the story’s tapestry, and it’ll be interesting to pull them all together as things continue on through the story. Hopefully I have the skill to pull it off. But only time will tell!

~~~

ALRIAN and Brennan stared down at the blackened, charred path through the grain field. She couldn’t believe the amount of destruction this one creature was capable of. Of course, they had some destructive animals on Alcardia, but most of them were shy or reclusive, and they rarely caused much trouble even if they were capable of it.

Brennan put his hands on her hips with a groan. “This thing is certainly determined to leave a trail behind it.”

“It’s almost as if the creature wants us to find it.” Alrian leaned back into his chest. “Do you think it hurt any villagers this time?”

He raised an arm and pointed to the village nestled in all of the fields. “I don’t think so. The village is still in one piece, and it shows all the usual signs of life.”

She watched the smoke trail up from chimneys and nodded. Her Bond was probably right. He usually was. She craned her neck to look up at him. “You know, I’m very glad I don’t have to track this thing alone.”

“You would find it just fine on your own, especially if this thing were to continue leaving a trail this conspicuous.”

She turned her gaze back to the charred path through the fields with a sigh. “Why would it leave such an obvious path, Brennan? What do you think it wants?”

“No way of knowing.” He ran his fingers through her hair and turned her to face him. “But I think we’re going to find out. Together, as usual.”

She grinned. “Yes, yes, we are. That thing is going to wish it never stepped through that Pathway.”

“Don’t be hasty, love. Besides terrifying some villagers and terrorizing the local livestock population, it hasn’t actually hurt anything.”

“You’re forgetting the field.”

He snorted. “It didn’t burn the whole thing down. Just a small portion of it. Doesn’t really count.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Brennan! That’s someone’s livelihood.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t hurt me over it!”

“Well, alright. This once, I’ll let it go, Captain.” She grinned up at him, not wanting to miss a chance to give him a hard time now that he was running the Imperial Knights.

He dipped his head until his lips almost brushed hers. Almost. But he didn’t close the last little bit of distance, the tease. She whined, but he only laughed. “Isn’t it High Imperial Knight now?”

“Why, sir, I didn’t know you were such a stickler for formality.” She smirked, her hands inching up his back to rest against his shoulders. She had to stand on her toes to reach, but he put his hands on her waist and steadied her, making the task easier.

“You’re the one who’s using formalities and titles.” His breath fanned over her face, and a shiver slipped down her spine. “Although, I’m not objecting.”

She bit her lip and lowered her gaze. “So, you’d accept any nickname I came up with, husband?”

“It would depend. But I haven’t heard one I didn’t like yet.” He finally dipped his head and claimed her lips for a breathless moment. “And I don’t think I will. Not if you give it with affection.”

She tried to hold back her smile and her laughter, but in the end it bubbled out. She dropped back to a flat-footed position and rested her forehead against his chest. Brennan always knew just what to say. He was always there, supporting and listening. He’d even kept her secret for her when he could’ve chosen to turn her in. After finding out she’d lied to him, he would’ve had every right. But instead, he’d loved her as much as her false identity allowed and kept the rest of his love to himself. Until now. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

He held her close too. “For what?”

“For caring.” She lifted her head. “For being you. For everything you do for me.”

He stroked her cheek with one large hand. “Anything for you, my love. Now, let’s get going. We have a creature to catch, and it isn’t waiting around. The sooner we catch it, the sooner we get to return to a warm bed and something besides hard tack.”

She pulled away and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “You love hard tack. It’s the best on-the-road food there is. Your words, not mine.”

He groaned. “I never said that. And why would you think I love hard tack?”

“You always ate my share and yours in our army days.”

“Only because you gave it to me. I was doing you a service.”

“A service?”

“The sergeant used to check up on everyone to make sure they ate their share. Do you know how many men got in trouble for not sticking to ration or for wasting their ration? I risked a good caning for you.”

“How come he never checked my share?”

Brennan gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I may have told him I was taking your portion when you weren’t hungry.”

“You told Sergeant Croops that?” She stopped and stared at him.

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t turn your back black and blue?”

“No. But he told me if I didn’t finish both portions, I’d get two canings for taking an extra share and wasting it.”

“I can’t believe you did that!” She shook her head with a laugh. “So you didn’t really like hard tack?”

“No. I hated the stuff, to be honest.”

She chortled, wiping tears from her eyes. “I never knew.”

“Don’t laugh about my pain, woman! That was three years of misery while we were deployed out in the middle of nowhere.”

She dropped back to walk beside him, leaning into his side with a smile. “I won’t, I won’t. Thank you for eating double your share to save me from Sergeant Croops’ wrath.”

“You’re welcome. Glad to know you appreciate it. Later, you’d better show me just how much you appreciate it too. A massage and a hot meal sound nice.”

Her lips curved up in a smile. When they got to a village that had an inn to stay in for the night, she’d make sure they acquired a hot meal and the nicest bed she could find. And she’d pay for it out of her salary. If he wanted that and a massage, he’d have it. It was the least she could do for him. He’d given her so much, and she wanted him to know how much that meant. “You’ve got it.”

~~~

That’s it for this week’s WIP Wednesday. What are you guys working on? Feel free to share in the comments!